Broken Glass
by Mrs.EleventhDoctor
Summary: Haymitch's girlfriend was never murdered by President Snow after the 50th annual Hunger Games. This is her story.
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

I was there the day he was reaped. The fear in his eyes and the terror in mine. A glance at his mother and younger brother and the same expression that was adorned on my face was reflected on theirs. I waited in silence for a volunteer, but there was no one to save him. Haymitch was going into the games.

I was there to say goodbye to him, at the time I believed those to be the last words I would ever speak to him. I cried, his family cried, but he never cried. At least, I never saw him cry. The odds were never in your favor, and now their were 48 tributes. 47 people were going to try to kill my boyfriend.

I was there to watch his scores, and interviews, and every minute he was in that damned arena. I watched all of it. I never took my eyes off of him. I saw him win, if you could call it that. Nevermind that, I saw him survive. As much as I loved him, I could hardly jump up and down at 47 murders. But I saw him live.

I was there the day he came home. He didn't run towards us or smile or embrace us. He just walked to us and the group of us walked to his new home in the Victor's Village. He didn't look at me or acknowledge me, but I stayed there. I loved that poor boy.

I was there when his mother and younger brother were murdered. He didn't say anything, but I stayed with him all night and all day, and eventually time just blended as we laid on the floor crying. He cried then. He cried all the time.

I was there when he went on his victory tour. And I was there when he got back. It was the next day he opened his first bottle of liquor.

So, I was there when he became an alcoholic. I hid bottles from him and would pour the vile liquid down the sink when he wasn't looking. I stood there as he yelled at me in his drunken stupor. And as he threw empty bottles and trash at me, and then as he apologized when he sobered up a little. I would sweep the broken glass as he slept.

I was there at the next reaping, when he had to go back to the capital to become a mentor. I watched his first tributes die in the games and I watched as he drank more and more and more.

I guess it was only fitting that he was there when I got reaped in 52nd annual Hunger Games.

Author's Note: Well I hope you liked it! This is my first Hunger Games fanfic, but I've written many fanfics before. (Many are posted on another account with an old email. I'll try to update this account) This prologue is rather short, but if you have seen my other fics, you would know that my chapters get progressively longer, typically. If you have ever written fanfiction, you would know that reviews are really encouraging, even if they are negative. Any and all comments are very welcome. I'll stop blabbing now and get on to writing chapter one!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1

I sat at the dining room table, across from Haymitch. I had a piece of bread in front of me and he had a bottle of liquor in front of him. I took a bite of my bread and he took a drink out of his bottle. He didn't look at me as we engaged in our routine breakfast ritual, but he hardly looked at me anymore, he hardly looked at anyone anymore. Other than Ripper, that is. I took another bite of bread as Haymitch chugged the rest of the bottle and threw it at the wall. I used to jump at these actions, but I had grown accustomed to this behavior. Haymitch let out a hybrid between a grunt and a yell as I stood up and put the rest of the bread back in the cupboard.

Haymitch's appearance had drastically changed in the two years since the reaping. There were worry lines etched into his skin and bags under his eyes. A slight stubble, not uncommon for a 17 year old boy. Grease slicked his face and hair, mainly because he only showered when I was able to force him in a slightly inebriated state; most of the time he was full on drunk. His drunken state had got progressively better as he drank more everyday. He badly needed a haircut, but he wouldn't let me anywhere near him with scissors.

"I'll miss you." I spoke softly, I wasn't sure if I wanted him to hear me; so I left that up to fate. He looked at me, acknowledging that I had indeed said something, and stumbled over to me. He stood in front of me and scooped up a lock of my hair between his index and middle finger and brushed it against his face a few times. I smiled and he quickly and abrasively kissed my cheek. Then he walked away.

It would be a lie if I said that our relationship hadn't suffer; it had suffered tremendously. There was a point in time when we had loved each other greatly, and like many other things, I'm not sure if that loved had survived the games. He told me sometimes while he was drunk that there were only two things left for him, me and the booze. He then told me to guess which one he would pick over the other. I knew the answer, and I was content with that. I mean, how could I blame him? I never believed for a second it was his fault.

Haymitch started to stumble away from me, but I took his arm to guide him through the door. Very much like last year, Haymitch and I walked to the reaping. Haymitch drunk, and I guiding him down the street. He recoiled at the bright sunlight that shone down on us. He rarely left the house and when he did it was only because I refused to go to Ripper's for him. Other than that, his life was spent at the dining room table, in his bottle. As we walked down the street, we passed familiar faces. Most people shied away from us for whatever reason, and there were many reasons. Haymitch's drunkenness was the most prominent reason. They saw the fragility in both of us and between us.

At the end of the short walk, we had to part ways. He had to go on stage and I had to go with all the other children 12 to 18. I walked toward the stage, as far as security would let me, which wasn't very far, we said goodbye to one another and then I headed toward check-in. I watched him from afar as he tripped walking up the stairs to the stage. I walked forward to get my finger pricked and then quickly hurried to my spot. I continued to watch Haymitch as Tayn Pavolen, the District 12 manger, took the stage. If the crowd wasn't already silent, I would say that silence had fallen over the people. Tayn was quite the sight, as she had been all the time I could remember seeing her. The people from the capitol were always a sight, wearing shades of colors I had never seen before. She was a calm woman, and did not smile for much. She smiled when Haymitch won the 50th Hunger Games, but that was the extent of her emotions that she showed.

She began to speak and the video started to play, the video they played every year at the reaping, but I was busy looking at the jar of girl's names. I was ashamed to say how many times my name was in that jar because I never told Haymitch or my mother. Only I knew. Let's just say the odds were not in my favor, but they never are, are they?

Tayn preferred to draw the boy's name first because from Haymitch had told me, she believed that boys were more likely to win the game. I didn't know the comparison. She stuck her dainty hand into the jar and plunged it to the very bottom, slowly drawing a single slip out of the mouth of the jar. Reading the name into the microphone she said, "Jory Gellern".

Jory Gellern was a young man, a year older than me. He was stern-faced because he was the oldest child in his family without a father. I'd never spoken to him.

Tayn had already selected the females name and, without wasting anytime, she unfolded it too and spoke the name, "Cia June".

Cia June was a 17 year old girl. She was the only member left in her family, except for her boyfriend which she qualified as family. Cia June was me.

I looked at my feet as I heard the other girls around me shuffle to move away from me, like I was a leper. I looked up at Haymitch to see his brow furrowed and his lips pressed into a firm line. There was no one to volunteer for me, just like there was no one to volunteer for him. I looked around at the girls who stood around me, starring at me with tears in their eyes, partly for me, but mostly because the that was called was not theirs. I felt a cold hand clasp the inside of my elbow and lead me out of the group of girls, and down the isle. Jory Gellern already stood on the stage and he, and the rest of them, stared down at me as I was dragged the the stairs and told to get up on stage. I took each step slowly, not quite sure where to go. Once on stage, I passed Haymitch who now sat with his hands clasped and his elbows on his knees, staring beyond the crowd. I watched him as I walked toward Tayn who announced that we were the District 12 tributes for the 52nd annual Hunger Games.

I peered to the crowd and silence ensued where clapping was expected. Tayn then passed us to the guards, who ushered us through the doors and told us we will get a few minutes with visitors.

As I expected, there were no visitors for me.


End file.
